


the other side of paradise.

by themysscira



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Unhealthy Relationships, i love sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 23:52:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12922869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themysscira/pseuds/themysscira
Summary: that boy went stone cold crazy.





	the other side of paradise.

**Author's Note:**

> because i seem to like writing sad kylo stories and have been listening to **_a lot_** of glass animals lately ~~(the title of this is taken from one of their songs)~~ , this happened.
> 
> any typos or mistakes, let me know!

She had last seen him a year ago. In passing, just a short glimpse of him and then he had gone. Retreated back into the darkness he’d been hiding in to shelter from the rain. At first, he’d been nothing but a figure among the many bodies in the city centre that day, but as her eyes lingered on his tall, intimidating frame for that split second, she recognised him.

His hair had outgrown his head, a raven mane glued to his skin, matted from the rain. His face was thinner than she’d remembered, the killer cheekbones she’d once joked could key a car now looked like they definitely could, jutting out of his skin as if they were trying to escape. He was a zombie, hands hanging lifelessly by his sides, a dying cigarette in his clutches, his lips blue from the cold, but it was his eyes that had startled her. The look in the them had haunted her even when she had gotten back home. He seemed so lost, there was no spark, no warmth in those dark brown orbs. He was hollow.

Her chest felt tight as she recalled the way he had looked at her that day, or rather the way he had looked through her as if she was some ghostly apparition. As if she was dead to him. And oh, how she had blamed herself.

Ben had believed that the two of them meeting was fate. Some sort of higher power, divine intervention. While it might have taken her some convincing, he was decided on her the first moment their eyes had met. He knew this was it and as he got older, it became more apparent to him. She was an angel, his salvation, put on the earth to save him from the darkness. He knew she was it; all or nothing.

Youths – he knew, even if he didn’t fully understand it at the time. He could feel it. An overpowering longing that filled him, consumed him, his stomach sinking every time they had to bid one another farewell.

Summers abroad – limited, blink and you’d have missed it. Sat on the beaches, him prancing about in the sand as he talked. Him, a year and a few months older than her which he usually liked. It gave him a sense of maturity, made him feel wise amongst his younger peers, play acting as though he was an experienced adult. Not with her – she was far smarter. In every sense. Even back then.

The first year – him eleven, her ten. Neighbouring villas, their parents were good friends after years of vacationing. Although, neither of them as kids had taken much notice in the other. Until the final night. A seafood restaurant on the beach surrounded by white sand and the soothing roar of the ocean – a farewell meal. Unbeknownst to his family, Ben despised seafood. He sat alongside her, a scowl on his lips as he picked at the prawns on his plate, gaze occasionally drifting over to her. Ben was half amazed, half disgusted at how quickly she was scoffing down her food. Their eyes met when she had finished, lips tugging into a smile of accomplishment as she stared down at his untouched plate, comparing it with her clean one. His mum had made a fuss, tutting disapprovingly at her son, insisting he eat and stop being moody. She had waited – biding her time staring at the sea, waves crashing along the shore, as she patiently waited for their parents to sink back into a deep conversation about nothing, her fingers dancing as they hovered over the prawns on his plate. Before Ben even had time to comprehend what she was doing, a prawn was shoved up his nose.

A yelp of surprise, scolding from his mother and father which she knew he hated. His cheeks turning beet red as they shouted, asking what on earth he had been playing at, to which he had no reasonable explanation. A few minutes later, he had sulkily turned to her, but his glare subsided when he realised that her once spotless plate was full again. Ben glancing down at his own plate – empty. The realisation hitting him – she had used the prawns as a sneaky diversion tactic, swapping the plates while his parents zeroed their attention in on him. Astonished, he had stared at her with an open mouth. He was in awe of her cunning prowess, a new-found admiration. Several years later, he told her that he recalled thinking that she was alright, even for a girl.

The next year – inseparable. Most of their time spent inside their villas, sprawled across the cool tiles, away from the burning heat of the sun. Ben had been into martial arts at the time, the only DVD’s that occupied the shelves were Bruce Lee films. The Karate Kid. Days spent, mountains of cheap food, watching Ben imitate the moves they’d seen on screen. His thin legs slicing through the air. Her villa – a chess board, her beating him every single time. Ben dismissing her victory, claiming he’d let her win and opting to play cards instead, her teaching him how to shuffle expertly like a magician while he just stared in amazement.

She left a week earlier – the sinking feeling surfacing. Despite, his parents’ taunts he wouldn’t admit it, that he missed her even though he did. It would be an entire year before he would get to see her again. Arms were flung around his neck, him turning so he could breathe in her hair, relishing the scent that greeted his nostrils – floral perfume and sea salt. A smell that would linger, haunt him until the next year. It had been first time that Ben had ever felt such an urge, a desperate need for someone to stay.

A year later – twelve versus eleven. Her there on a sojourn, five days. Barely even a week! Ben had been inwardly upset, but hid it well. He taught her how to play tennis. She won, naturally. More sessions watching Karate Kid, chowing down on baguettes. Him trying to memorise every detail of her, noting that her hair was longer, curlier since last time. Her laugh, loud and brash, echoing around the villa. It was his new favourite sound and how he wished he could record it and play it on a loop forever. The sinking feeling within him returned, a dread, that was stronger than it had been the previous year. This time, reaching his heart.

Deck chairs – her sitting across him, cross legged while he reclined like royalty, arms folded behind his head while she chatted with frantic hand gestures. She had been no older than thirteen at this point, on a post-exam high as she explained to him how Hitler and the Nazis had misinterpreted Nietzsche. Ben had politely nodded along, observing her behind his sunglasses. Her pair pulled back into a tight ponytail, brow furrowed as she rattled on. It was in that moment, Ben realised he was quite fond of the sound of her voice. The way the pitch wavered, emphasising certain words. He smirked, mocking her posh accent and her educated vocabulary purely to get a rise out of her. Ben liked how her face looked when she argued with him, how that posh tone only became more prominent with her increasing fury.

The beach – perched in the sand. Him, smoking. Her, watching as the waves rolled by. His lips curved when he saw the frost in her gaze, amused that she was still mad at him. Ben would not let her take a drag, spewing out some speech about how it was awful for her. She had scoffed, informing him that second-hand smoke was just as awful, if not worse. He had quirked his head at her quick remark, chortling as he ruffled her hair with his large palm. She had smacked him away, attention turning to the stars. Ben was enthralled at how the moon illuminated her face, casting an eerie white glow across her features turning her into a ghost. Her eyes – wide, gazing up at the midnight sky with wonder, glinting like stars dancing. Her lips – parting in a breathless whisper as she grabbed his face with a hand, eyes never leaving the sky as she told him to look up. Ben did, but the sight that he was met with was a let-down, dull in comparison to the ethereal being next to him.

The end – her pushing books into his arm. Nietzsche, Tolstoy, Capote. She was stern, ordering Ben to read them. A promise that she’d see him next year, planting a chaste kiss to his warm cheek, his heart racing. He had wanted to pause that moment and stay in it forever but before he knew it, she was gone. His heart sinking to new depths, his stomach growling as though it craved more of her. Perhaps, this was the first time that Ben began to understand these feelings more. A need, a want, a longing. The books that she’d placed in his care only heightened this sensation, his eyes staring in fascination at the arrays of fluorescent post-it notes dotted across on the pages. An insight into her mind. Her interpretations, ideas, pink highlighter underlining her favourite passages or lines which indirectly became his favourites.

Ben didn’t see her next year, or the year after that. Not until…

Halloween – him fresh from turning seventeen, a party, a field in middle of nowhere, far from the town. It was a dismal day, the sky pitch black as it released buckets of rain upon the attendees who were quivering in tents for cover. The weather had drove most people indoors, house parties that he hadn’t been invited to. He was making his way over to Poe, to tell him that he was going to head home. He’d grown tired of standing in the corner, beer clenched in hand, head bopping along pathetically to the music as he watched gangs of drunk boys and their wandering arms, girls – high as kites – giggling at their actions. In the years that had passed, Ben had become reclusive, introverted, struggling with adolescence. Acting out – cigarettes, quarrelling, petty theft and arson. A full embodiment of the moody, angst-ridden teen stereotype.

When Ben approached Poe, he’d seen him laughing, a girl by his side – and he’d froze. The female’s laugh sent a shiver down his spine. Familiar – the laugh, the hair he could see peeking out from behind Dameron's form. He’d know her anywhere. Poe’s voice, distant at first, snapping him out of his thoughts, calling him over for introductions. Ben’s heart had been thudding against his ribcage, nervously swallowing as he neared them. She turned, and his mouth went dry. Because it was _her_ , and because it had been two years. She had been dressed in some god awful disco getup – cheetah print leggings that clung tightly to her skin, a fur coat with a pattern that closely resembled the spots of a Dalmatian hanging off her shoulders, pink high top converse splattered with mud. Her hair was still wild as ever, but there were subtle changes. Ones that only Ben could’ve noticed. A set of light freckles now covered the apples of her cheeks, fighting to be seen under the layer of make-up she’d caked over it, her face was more angular, defined. Pretty. Ben’s eyes drifted over her, soaking her in.

It’s only when Ben calls out her name, that the penny drops for her. Recognition flashes behind her eyes and they widened in disbelief as a result, his name tumbling from her lips. Poe’s gaze flitted between the two of them in confusion. Ben vaguely remembered Mitaka telling him about the new girl in their form who was supposedly drop dead gorgeous, but he had no idea, wouldn’t even have guessed that it would be her. She was supposed to be in some city, worlds away. After staring at each other in stunned silence, she flicked at the plastic fangs covering his teeth and it started again. Inseparable.

Eight months later – the first time Ben had kissed her. She had a boyfriend. Ben had just turned eighteen, her seventeen. They had been at a house party. Ben - still working on his first beer - practically sober. He had dragged her away, her stumbling, words slurring, chastising him for being too intense and a bore, giggling every time her knees almost collided with the pavement. Him, shaking his head, muttering curse words under his breath. He had lifted her into his van, the one he used for work. A part time job delivering packages from some warehouse. He leaned over her, buckling her belt, her head falling forward as she hiccupped between escaped bouts of drunken laughter. Ben’s brows furrowing, forehead creasing with worried lines as he asked if she was feeling alright, if she needed to vomit. Looking up at him, she shook her head, shifting in her seat so that their faces were closer. Their eyes locking, her pupils dilated, her breath heavy with the smell of alcohol. It was sudden, unexpected. Cold fingers grasping his jaw, manicured nails grazing the skin. Her words were slurred, but he believed them. He didn’t know whether it had been down to his own silly, wishful thinking or his increasing desperation.

Being this close to her was more intoxicating than any kind of alcoholic beverage. She sighed, words slurring, “Ben, I think I love you.”

Cold lips clashing, and at first, Ben tried to pull away. Not because he didn’t want to – he would have been lying if he had said he hadn’t spent endless nights dreaming about kissing her – but it was wrong, she had had too much, judgement clouded. Heart hammering against his ribs, he gasped. Fingers grasping at one another’s flesh, noses brushing, foreheads meeting and her whispers, her pleas, soft breath against his lips, “Please, Ben.”

Giving in, he swore that she would ruin him, but the feeling of warmth that spread throughout him at her touch was too good to deny. It was the first time, in a long time, that Ben had ever felt something good, something that made him feel like he was alive, and it was worth it. He had kissed her back, until his lungs were on fire, his head dizzy. Her mouth sweet, the alcoholic aftertaste bitter on his tongue. Heavy touching, breathless panting. It had been sloppy, inexperienced, with teeth clashing, his nose bumping against hers. If operating on a five-star system, most onlookers would’ve given the kiss barely one star, but to Ben, it was euphoric. He felt jolts of electricity coursing through his veins and for a split second, the world and all his worries blurred leaving him numb to all the pain, the rage he buried inside disappearing. The start.

A month later – bored, struggling to adapt to her new life in a small town. Ben didn’t fail to notice how others were drawn to her, a natural attraction which she welcomed, basking in the attention. Sometimes his insecurities would resurface, but she reminded him that despite everything else, she’d chosen him. In lulls, he saw the sly and scheming girl he had known in those summer breaks come back to life and that’s when he realised that she’d perhaps picked him because he was the perfect candidate for her favourite pastime.

Perhaps it was because he proved a challenge – willingly playing along. It was vicious, violent and vindictive because this wasn’t a child’s game anymore. The stakes were higher than the bargained chocolates and sweets as children. Now, hearts, souls and sometimes even sanity were on the line. One night, sleeping next to her, his finger playing with the strap of her camisole, it transpired to him that he would never win. That his victory was never even an option. Maybe he had known that right from the beginning.

That night – he lost any chance at winning along with everything else. Everything was hers, his heart, his soul, his sanity. There had been a niggling doubt at the back of his head, a voice that told him that it wasn’t reciprocated. He fell apart, tossing and turning. Restless.

At the start, Ben had matched her. Cockiness taking over, foolishly believing he had the upper hand. That was short lived, perhaps a part of her strategy. Pawns were flying from either side, water under the bridge. Every time he won, she’d hit back twice as harder. Maybe he’d sleep with one of her friends, she’d bed two of his in return. They were acquaintances he could care less about, harmless casualties in their sick, twisted game. She lived for the rush, seeing the anger brewing behind his eyes as his blood boiled, desperately trying to shake the idea of somebody else’s hands caressing her skin, someone else’s lips brushing against her skin. The momentary fire her actions sparked in him was worth it. It made the kiss-and-make-up portion of the game more thrilling. Rougher. Claiming. Intense. Eyes locking, promises, “I love you, Ben. You know that.”

Usually, he’d nod. Closing his eyes, believing every word she had said. Until one night, Ben snapped. Spitting savage accusations at her, her eyes hardening response, jaw set. That night, he saw the artful façade crack and that was the first time that Ben had noticed that he had just as much of a hold over her as she did him. An empty wine bottle, smashing just above his head, her unleashing a deafening scream. A sound that haunted him, that lingered in later months.

“Are you blind, Ben? It terrifies me!” she had howled like a banshee, pointing a finger at his chest accusatorily, “ _You_ terrify me, don’t you see that? Because it doesn’t matter who else I kiss, who else I’m with. Nobody even comes close to how you make me feel.”

He had won that night, he supposed. A triumph that made he feel nauseous.

The next few months – his sense overridden by jealousy, paranoia. A gnawing craving that clawed at his chest. The only thing that would soothe it? Her.

A party – Poe, her sat on his lap. Shots of vodka, too many of them. Faces close, too close. The rage took a hold of him once more, blurring his vision until all he could see was red. A laugh, from her, a sweet sound that tugged at his heartstrings. Ben looked up, seeing Poe’s head fall to her shoulder with a giggle, hand darting across her lap to steady her. That was all that was needed to push him over the edge. Ben’s hands clenched into tight fists, he could’ve killed Poe Dameron that night.

Instead, he had tugged her away from the party. Backing her up against the brick wall, bodies flush against each other, noses brushing. His voice, a hiss. Snarling as he warned her to stay away from his friends, from Poe. He’d watched as her lips twitched in smug satisfaction, excitement lighting up her eyes.

She dug her lip into her teeth so hard that Ben had been terrified she would draw blood, her arms snaking around his neck, “You can’t tell me what to do, Ben.”

It was the first time in a long time that he’d succumbed to his anger. The first time that she’d truly witnessed the fury he was capable of. Yet, it hadn’t deterred her. His fist came down, hitting the brick wall beside her head. To his surprise, she didn’t so much as even flinch. Her upper lip curved into scowl, disappointment. The pain shot through him before he could even comment on her reaction, face contorting, curse words leaving his mouth as his knuckles began to redden. Gritting his teeth, he had tried to restrain himself from yelling and he saw the way her eyes twinkled, giggling as though she took some sick pleasure in seeing him hurt.

And despite himself, he lets her pull him in. Lips against his, heart racing, his temper dissipating within seconds.

He had laughed then, because he knew that neither of them had won. Neither of them would ever make it out of this relationship alive. No matter where they ended up years after this, both of them would always suffer and he had been right. They did. Because when she’d seen him on the street that day, she’d realised the guilt she felt in association to Ben was still as ever-present.

None of that had mattered to them back then. Because they were young, hormones riding high. To them, that was what love as all about. No purity, no heartfelt sonnets, no red roses. It was raw, painful and all-consuming. It would burn them, maim them. Ben didn’t know who had cracked first, but he had lost it. “You’ve gone insane, you know that, right?”

Something had flashed in her eyes, hands curling in agitation. Pain, a breaking point. Ben had smirked in success as she told him to shut up. Her hands reaching up, urgently pulling him in for one last kiss.

His voice had been desperate as they parted, pained, “I love you.”

Because rather tragically, Ben still did.

A year later – the climax. A brutal showdown at her apartment.

4:20AM. A crash. Raised voices, their shouts bouncing off the walls. Finn, her roommate, waking with a start, letting out a groan when he saw the time on the clock. Like a siren, slumber called to him and he half wanted to obey, but a screech followed by a shatter caused him to jolt awake, jumping up from the mattress on the floor.

A sinister laugh echoed around the flat, taunting.

“Oh, you want some fun? Come on! Do it again!”

Ben.

A female shriek. “You’re an absolutely selfish, inconsiderate, narcissistic–” Another smash. “Arsehole!”

Finn hauled himself out of the room, the stupor of sleep weakening as he stomped out into the hallway.

“Well, well. I wasn’t aware you knew such big words,” Ben’s voice in reply, slurred, patronizing. “I only thought that mouth of yours was good for one thing–”

As he yanked open the door to their room, Finn smacked his hand over his eyes, not yet adjusted to the blinding light of an early morning. The action had caused him to miss a glass whizzing past Ben’s head, cutting him off mid taunt as he jerked out of the way with an amused chuckle. Finn watched in horror as Ben raised a bottle of red wine to his lips, guzzling at it as she hurled another glass at the wall behind him. The shards shattered to the floor, mixing with broken pieces of their predecessors in the battle between her and Ben. Plates, cups, you name it.

Finn’s eyes hardened, jaw clenching as his mind tried to comprehend the scene in front of him, “What is going on?”

Ben’s lips curled into a devilish smirk, swaying drunkenly as he kept his eyes firmly on her. His ebony locks were tousled from sleep, his white shirt was half unbuttoned, hanging off one shoulder, the outline of red lipstick on his collar as well as down his neck.

She stood across from him. Disheveled hair, face flushed, her forehead shimmering with sweat. Fingers curled around another plate, holding it in the air ready to fire at Ben.

Finn had stepped into the No Man’s Land between them, demanding she put down the plate. Ben had shoved him aside, “Stop ruining our fun, kid! Come on, hit me! Right here!” Gesturing to his jaw, another swig of wine.

She hurled the glass at the same time Finn had called her name, warning her. Yet, Ben didn’t even bother to duck out of the way this time. The plate missed him by inches, shattering a framed picture of the once happy couple instead. Ben emitted a deliberately sexualized groan, “So close! You can do it!”

“That’s enough!” Finn roared, hissing as a stray shard of one of the obliterated teacups lodged itself into the sole of his bare foot. “You –” He felt like a father having to scold his two misbehaving children as he pointed a stern finger at her, “Stop smashing the crockery!”

“And you–” he bellowed, turning to Ben, “Give me the bottle, you’ve had more than enough.”

Childishly, Ben refused. His lips pursing into a pout, clutching the bottle closer to his chest. When Finn’s icy glare didn’t relent, he let out an exasperated sigh and reluctantly handed him the bottle. Finn, hands outstretched in both directions, attempted to diffuse the situation. “Alright, now we’re all tired, a little drunk and running high on emotions, but we–”

“Finn, he started it!” She whined, stomping her foot like a sullen toddler.

Ben scoffed as he retorted, “I did not! It’s her. You know how she is. Constant nagging, all day, all night – breathing down my neck. No Ben this and no Ben that, interrogating me about what I’m doing every five seconds.”

“Where am I going? What am I doing?” He continued, eyes clouding as he maintained eye contact with her, his gaze full of vitriol, “Would you like me to give you a play-by-play of all my actions? Now, I’m walking across the bedroom, I’m taking a seat on a chair, I’m–”

“Going for meetings with Armitage Hux and his group,” she interrupted, her voice had been nothing more than a mere whisper. Ben’s eyes darkening.

Finn was about to tell them to quit it, but once he latched on to what she was saying. His stomach dropped at the mention of Hux – eyes widening with genuine shock before zoning in on Ben, narrowing. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“You sound exactly like her,” he had boomed, rubbing at his tired eyes with his clenched fists, “He’s not that bad.”

Finn shook his head frantically. In the time he’d known Ben, he’d come to learn about his habits. The good and the bad. He knew how deeply Ben had resented his parents for favouring their work over their son, always being too busy to support his achievements. He knew that while Ben could be sweet, there was an uncontrollable anger within him. What he didn’t know was just how entirely that rage had consumed him. It suddenly all made sense to Finn, and well, he didn’t blame her for trying to break his head open. He felt dizzy. Armitage Hux, the bastard son of some decorated general, was a budding politician. His ideologies were insane and twisted, fixated on power. The fact that Ben had resorted, had even considered, befriending a man like Hux must’ve meant that his mental state had hit fragile new lows.

“He didn’t,” her voice was strained, quiet, but it had cut through the eerie silence like a knife. As she spoke, she trembled. Finn stepping closer, getting a better look at her. Seeing that she wasn’t as drunk as he had believed her to be. In fact, she was scarily rather sober. “I followed him and dragged him home before he could. I’m only trying to help you, Ben. Hux and his friends, they’ll only corrupt you. They’re practically evil!”

He had fallen into a dark hole – the death of his father. He had clung to her afterwards, turning to her for comfort and solace which she provided gladly. She had held him when the tears wouldn’t subside, offered him soothing words, promising that it would all get better. He had believed that, trusted in her and for a short while, it worked. He was back to being her Ben, but then he’d started staying out later and later. Returning home beyond intoxicated and smelling of women’s perfume, wanting to talk about nothing else other than ‘The Order’ and their ideologies. They'd brainwashed him. She had been crazy, screaming bloody murder at him, but she could never bring herself to leave.

Cleaning – one morning. Ben’s leather jacket draped across the chair. She had rolled her eyes, complaining about how messy he was. It was then that her eyes locked on something peeking out of one of the pockets. A knife. She’d questioned him relentlessly afterwards, but he’d shut her out. She had quickly come to realise that all the guilt he had professed about his father’s passing was because he had done it. They had made him do it.

“I never asked for your help,” Ben seethed, getting up from the chair and approaching her, “You did this to me! What makes you think I need your help, you manipulative little–”

Finn had shifted in defense, standing in front of her as to block her from Ben. He glared down at the man he had watched his best friend fall in love with, the man he had even come to consider a pal, conflicted, hurt. “That’s enough!”

“Go back to bed, kid. This doesn’t concern you,” Ben scoffed, patting Finn on the chest before glaring around his torso, eyes landing on her again. Sarcasm dripping from his words. “This concerns me and the ‘love of my life’ over there.”

She had blinked away the tears, turning and heading out of the room. Ben’s dry cackles still ringing in her ears long after she’d left, slamming the door furiously behind her.

“Good riddance,” Ben had murmured, falling back onto the chair.

Finn just observed him, mouth agape, utterly speechless. Inside, he was crumbling. No-one could deny that the girl had messed with Ben’s head, but they had been young. In love. This, Ben’s downfall, was all on him. If anything, she had been a saint standing by him. Saving him. Finn had told him as much while Ben sat there wallowing in self-pity. Instructing him to sort out his priorities because she deserved better and if he didn’t, then he’d end up all alone.

Ben hadn’t listened to his warning. He didn’t listen to anyone anymore. He’d even been as ridiculous to accuse Finn as fancying his beloved girlfriend which had caused his friend to roll his eyes in frustration, his patience waning.

Ben forcing himself off the chair, staggering towards Finn in his drunken state. A warning. Breath reeking of alcohol. “Stay away from my girl, I know what you’re doing.”

With that, Finn relented and exited the room, leaving Ben to grumble and whine to himself. Finn had stopped in the hallway, pausing when he saw her by the front door. His brows knitted together, eyes falling on the packed suitcase in her hand. His tired eyes burning into her bloodshot ones, her tear stained cheeks shining in the morning light.

She looked up at him through her eyelashes, her face softening. Apologetic.

“I’m leaving town.”

And leave she did. She pretended as though she had wiped any memory of Ben and their relationship from her mind. As if letting him go was elementary. It had been excruciating at the start, but as the years went on it became easier. He had always been stubborn, refusing to let go. He allowed the darkness envelop him, to suck out every last drop of his sanity.

Seeing him again that day, weak, fragile, broken – a reminder that she couldn’t save him from destruction. She couldn’t save the boy she had loved.

**Author's Note:**

> if you've miraculously reached the end, perhaps give [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhdtdUljThU) song a listen as i had it on repeat while writing and it's so beautiful.
> 
> this is something a little new for me so please do leave comments etc and let me know what you thought - i am working on some stuff for political relations but felt compelled to write this first :)


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